


What Lords Do to Their Ladies on Halloween

by Jade_Masquerade



Series: Holiday Drabbles [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 03:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12572280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/pseuds/Jade_Masquerade
Summary: Sansa prides herself on punctuality. Jon has other priorities.





	What Lords Do to Their Ladies on Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the style of Kit's mustache in "Gunpowder."

“Stay _still,_ ” Sansa hissed for the third time. 

The first Jon had curled his lip like a petulant child at the feeling of the wax in his mustache, messing up all of her hard work, the second he’d pulled away to sneeze, ruining it yet again, and the last he’d kissed her palm. She couldn’t be too upset about that one, at least. 

“I don’t see why this is necessary,” he said, lips pressed together as though he were attempting to be a ventriloquist. 

“I’m trying to make it look authentic,” she said, frowning as she smoothed over the ends of the hair above his lip again. 

Jon rolled his eyes. “Last year Theon wore a t-shirt that said ‘This is My Halloween Costume.’ And was Gendry even wearing _clothes_?” 

Sansa huffed, leaving Jon be for a minute so she could smooth over her own hair in the bathroom mirror. “Really? You’re comparing us to Theon? And I told you to never bring up that Gendry incident again.” 

Every year the Starks held a highly competitive costume contest at the annual family Halloween party, and this year they were going to _win_. Jon had been growing out his mustache for weeks; Sansa had used her knowledge of historical English fashion to painstakingly sew her own period outfit in a rich emerald green, complete with a bodice featuring gold embroidery. 

One thing was for certain: they were not going to lose again this year to Arya and Gendry, a defeat made all the more infuriating since Arya, as the “Magic Carpet,” had merely pinned a rug to her shoulders, and as Jon had pointed out, Gendry’s “Aladdin” costume consisted of little more than some flowy pants and a teeny, tiny vest Sansa strongly suspected actually belonged to her sister. Sansa had pointed out it wasn’t a “Best Abs” contest, and that even if it were, she didn’t think Gendry would stand a chance considering the competition he could have had there, but Jon just didn’t find it necessary to go around flaunting his for everyone to fawn over, thank you very much. 

Anyway, thankfully it was not a punctuality contest since they were certainly going to be late for this year’s party at this rate. Robb probably wouldn’t even notice, but Margaery would never let her live it down, with her teasing and innuendos that had only increased since Sansa and Jon moved in together a few months back. Sansa’s cheeks flamed every time Margaery made one of her jokes about why they were never on time anymore to meet for dinner, or at the bar, or anywhere really: not primarily because she was exceptionally modest, but because they were mostly true. 

Sansa stood back to admire her handiwork, and Jon’s eyes traveled back up to hers a second too late, snagged by the view of her chest pushed up by the corset of her dress. She recognized that look: the darkened grey, the wide pupils, the heat they held. 

“Jon, _no,_ ” she said firmly, as though he were a dog greeting her with an unwelcome lick. 

“I’ve got to spend the next however many hours on my best behavior with Robb, Arya, Gendry’s abs, and whoever else eyeing me, and you know Bran sees literally everything,” he whined, pulling her closer. 

“You forgot my parents will be there too,” she blurted as he started to kiss down her neck, knowing well enough to avoid her carefully-applied makeup. 

He groaned and sank to his knees. 

“Jon, you’re going to mess everything up again,” she said, her voice heightening in pitch as she realized his intentions and began to babble. “Besides, if we want to have any shot at all at winning, you’ve got to start getting into character—”

“I am. This is what lords do to their ladies,” he murmured just before he disappeared beneath her skirts. 

“I don’t think so— _oh,_ ” she faltered as he pushed aside the lacy scrap of fabric separating her from his marauding tongue. She’d purposely worn little in the way of underwear—she’d meant for Jon to discover it later in the night, though, rather than before it even started.

It took him only a second to have her moaning his name instead of the sharp rebukes from before. No matter how many times Jon went down on her, it always felt as exhilarating as the very first, felt wild and wanton, felt like electricity thrummed through her veins. 

He flattened his tongue against her clit and pressed one finger into her followed by another. “Have you been this wet for me the entire time, sweet girl?” he asked, his voice low and desirous. 

She couldn’t see him beneath the thick layers of velvet and petticoats, but she knew what he would do next, how he would take his mouth off her for a brief second, what it would look like when he wrapped his lips around his fingers to taste her… After all these times, it still never failed to make her flutter with a secret thrill. 

“So good,” he rumbled. “Better than any candy…” 

She would have laughed at his festive comparison, but then his tongue ran up through the wetness between her legs and all the air left her lungs in a rush. She pushed a hand into his hair to draw him closer, forgetting about the mousse she’d used before to slick it into semi-submission. 

It didn’t take long for Jon to have her biting her lip, her legs trembling as she tried to withstand his affections, his lips wrapping around her clit, his warmth and slickness bringing her to the edge. He’d learned over their many instances of tardiness how to push her buttons just the right way, and he dialed all of them now, increasing his pressure and speed until she gave in, gasping and tugging his hair to stay upright, waves of pleasure erasing any and all of her annoyance from before. 

Jon straightened again, emerging looking a rather disheveled version of himself, hair awry, mustache askew, and now his hard cock pressed up against the fabric of his trousers that Sansa had discovered in a miraculous thrift store find and altered to meet the style of the time period. 

“ _And_ you’ve ruined the laces on your breeches?” she said once she caught her breath, shaking her head at the strings that had worked their way loose from their proper places and somehow ended up in a knot below the tented fabric. 

At least Jon had the decency to look ashamed and dejected this time around. “Sansa, I’m so, so sorry…” 

When he glanced up though, Sansa flashed him a wicked grin and switched places with him, carefully lifting her skirts so she could kneel on the tiled floor of the bathroom. “Don’t worry. I think I can fix that problem.” 

It wouldn’t take _that_ long to reapply her lipstick… 

 

 

Needless to say, they were very, very late to Robb and Margaery’s.


End file.
